


So Damn Sweet

by dragonspell



Series: Payback [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon's out of prison and he's got a job to finish.  He's got some free time, though, so he figures he might as well enjoy it.  <i>I didn’t mean for it to be this way.  I truly didn’t.  I’d had no idea that I could even go there but that was before I met the Winchesters.  Rules are different for Winchesters.  Sam’s the Anti-Christ and his older brother Dean is my obsession.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	So Damn Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

**Title:** So Damn Sweet  
**Author:** [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** Gordan/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Non-con. Slight spoilers Gordon episodes. Takes place after 3.03 "Bad Day at Black Rock" and goes a bit AU before "Fresh Blood."  
**Summary:** Gordon's out of prison and he's got a job to finish. He's got some free time, though, so he figures he might as well enjoy it. _I didn’t mean for it to be this way. I truly didn’t. I’d had no idea that I could even go there but that was before I met the Winchesters. Rules are different for Winchesters. Sam’s the Anti-Christ and his older brother Dean is my obsession._  
**Word Count:** 3665  
**A/N:** So. Some people were saying that they wanted this? =) Sequel to [Payback](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/131300.html)

Prison didn’t suit me. I didn’t like the bars, the restrictions. Structure is my life but only on my terms. I was willing to stay there, however—serve my time, as it were. That was before Kubrick confirmed my suspicions.

You see, there was only one thing that I could focus on my entire time inside—the guys that had put me in there. Sam and Dean Winchester. It was more than just a personal grudge, though. What else are you supposed to do when you know that the Anti-Christ is out walking the Earth and no one knows? That everyone just thinks that he's a rather harmless puppy dog?

That was Sam. Sam was going to bring about the end of the world and no one was bothering to stop him. I had to do something.

His brother, Dean, he’s just collateral damage. You can’t take out Sam without doing something about Dean. At one time, I’d thought otherwise—thought I stop Sam without having to hurt Dean. Now I see just how wrong I was. Dean is like Sam’s helpless thrall, his blind follower, his worshipper. He’s caught up in Sam’s evilness right down to the very center.

So I’m going to have to take care of both.

I knew that when I was inside, waiting. I knew that I would have to be the one to kill Sam Winchester. I thought about it, too. A lot. I thought about just how I was going to do it—whether it was going to be a gun shot or maybe a bomb or maybe even something a little bit more personal. I played out the scenarios, planning them, running over them again and again.

…I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t say that for every minute I spent on Sam, I spent just as long on his brother. Only with Sam, that was just justice, plain and simple. That was the job. With Dean, I don’t have anything nearly so high-minded. My intentions are, you could say, less than honorable.

I didn’t mean for it to be this way. I truly didn’t. I’d had no idea that I could even go there but that was before I met the Winchesters. Rules are different for Winchesters. Sam’s the Anti-Christ and his older brother Dean is my obsession.

It’s his own fault. He’s the one that started it, offering himself to me, getting me thinking about it. Then he took it all away before I’d even had a _taste._

So I got my taste all right—my taste of his sweet hide. Some could say that I went a little far but I don’t think so. It was all his fault in the first place—because he might have been saying no, but his actions were speaking louder than his words.

That little taste…it stayed with me. It’s still right there, in the front of my mind. Just how warm he felt beneath my hands, just how breathtaking he was. Sitting there in a condemned house, tied to a dirty chair and spewing filth at me, he looked as beautiful as an angel. Dean Winchester the angel with his brother Sammy the devil coming to save him.

I’d needed more. Now he’s in my head, under my skin. I should have been focusing all of my attention on eradicating the evil that is Sam Winchester but I kept getting sidetracked, wondering just how sweet Dean would look lying spread out on a bed. Thinking about how he’d taste and how desperate he would be for me. How that would feel. I want to know how he’d feel wrapped around me.

I shiver, coming back to the here and now. Why waste your time on daydreams, after all, when the real thing is always so much better?

Poor little Dean hadn’t even had a clue what was behind him. Careless. He’ll regret it later. Me, the only thing I’m regretting is that he didn’t have his baby brother with him because that’s all it would have taken to make this moment perfect. Little Sammy’s still alive, however, but we’ll solve that soon enough. Just like last time, he’ll come for his brother, but it’ll be different this time because I’m going to win.

In the meantime, there’s nothing to do but wait and I’m fairly certain that we’ve got hours. Dean and me, we’re going to have a lot of fun. Him and his sweet ass, laying spread eagle on my bed.

I smile, watching him sleep and run a finger up one leg. He twitches but doesn’t wake up, giving me just a little longer. I don’t mind.

He’s stark naked on the bed, with his arms and ankles tied to the bed posts—quite like an offering. It’s like a painting, him so pretty and pale against the white sheets. He’s paler than I thought he’d be and I love how that looks against the blackness of my own skin. Like chocolate and vanilla, a sheer contrast that’s pleasing to the eye.

He brightens up this dirty basement, like the only pure thing in the building. If only he didn’t blindly follow Sam—he would have deserved better if only his little brother hadn’t ruined his soul. This shithole, it’s definitely not the Hilton. He’ll just have to forgive me, I suppose.

Last time, I didn’t get to explore. I’m making up for it now. I apply more pressure, smoothing the tips of my fingers against his soft skin, running them along the areas he normally keeps hidden away—up his hip, around his groin, over his belly and his gently moving chest. Every now and then, I hit a scar, the skin roughening and I circle around it in curiosity, wondering what each one’s story is.

I can’t hold myself back forever, though—I’ve never been a particularly patient man when what I want is within my reach. So I slide my hand back down his body and between his legs, grabbing his dick and coaxing it to life. “Time to wake up,” I tell him, pulling gently.

He groans, his brow furling before blinking his eyes open. When he sees me, he freezes, breath speeding up. I move my hand back up to his chest, leaving his half-hard dick, as I press my palm over his heart. I can feel it thudding. “You’re heart’s beating so fast.”

He shudders, jerking his head up as he closes his eyes. “Mmmph!” he tells me and I grin.

“What’s that? I couldn’t make it out.” Dean looks pretty damn nice gagged as well. I’m tempted to leave it on him, just for the visual but I know that I’m going to want some of that sweet mouth, as well. “If you promise not to scream, I’ll take it off,” I offer.

He glares at me but doesn’t say a word. So I chuckle and gently lift his head to undo the knot of the bandana. He waits nicely for me to remove it and after I’m done, still keeps quiet, just working his jaw, getting out any lingering stiffness.

“I must say, Dean,” I comment, flattening my palms over his naked chest, “I was a bit surprised to see you without Sammy. You didn’t ditch him, did you? Your brother?” I pause, giving him time to answer before continuing up to his neck, feeling his pulse. “That’s okay. I’ll find him soon enough.”

“Like Hell you will,” he hisses. “I’ll kill you first.”

“Is that so.” I’m disinterested in his threats. He can’t back them up and he knows it so it’s all just empty bluster. I’m far more interested in the way he’s looking at me—all that defiance with just a little bit of fear. I lay down next to him, running my hands wherever the mood strikes me and I think he finally becomes aware of his situation.

“You sick bastard—don’t fucking touch me!” He bucks upward, trying to stop me but getting absolutely nowhere. I chuckle and kiss his shoulder, watching him shudder.

“We’ve been here before, Dean. You changed your tune last time, too.” My tongue licks out, getting that first taste of him and I close my eyes with how good it is. He sucks in a breath and holds it, swallowing hard before he lets the air out slowly.

“You don’t want to do this, Gordon.”

“Why is that?” I ask, tracing a design on his chest. From where I’m at, it seems like I do want to do this. I really, really do.

He stares at the ceiling, and when I move my hand down to his stomach, he sucks it in, trying to escape my touch. I press harder to let him know that there’s nowhere to run. “I swear to God I’m going to kill you,” he says.

“You think so?” I slide back up to grip his face, holding him still while I move in to mouth at his ear. I nip at his earlobe, catching it between my teeth and shaking it. I can feel his teeth clench and he whines helplessly, unable to stop himself. In reward, I lick gently under his ear and blow on it, watching him shiver.

“You son of a bitch…”

I chuckle and release him to gently slap his face. “Dean, we talked about this.” He turns his head to the side, pushing against the thin pillow I’ve given him and seems to be readying himself to pretend that this isn’t happening.

That’s okay. He’ll realize that’s not an option eventually. I press a kiss just under his jaw and move back onto my knees, sliding down to the end of the bed and between his legs. I see him clench his teeth again, preparing, and I smile as I slide my hands up his sweet thighs. They’re trembling despite his best efforts and I like the vibration of his muscles under my fingers. He tries to jerk away again, but he’s got nowhere to go, no other choice but submission. I allow him his last little bit of defiance. It’s really the only thing he’s got left.

He tries again to resist me, wordlessly holding his legs as close together as he can but I force them open, parting them far enough to give my shoulders room. “Don’t,” he says and it encourages me further. I press my fingers against his hole, not moving inside him yet, but promising. He bucks to the side and yanks on the ropes binding his hands. He’s starting to panic now—I can smell it: the fear, the desperation. It’s better than any cocktail. It gets me high.

I lean down, and gently suck his dick into my mouth, working it with my lips and tongue as I hold his hips to the bed. It wouldn’t do to have him choke me now. He’s shuddering and squirming, trying to get away again, his mouth saying things like “No!” and “Stop!” and “Goddamn it, Gordon, I swear I’ll kill you!” with his voice breaking on that last one but he’s growing hard.

He can’t help it. It’s in his nature.

I bring my fingers up to my mouth, sucking on them alongside him, before sliding them back down belong his balls. I press one finger just inside, just enough for him to feel the intrusion and he clenches down. I tease him a bit, just to let him know the score, listening to him gasp and threaten. Definitely intoxicating.

When he lengthens enough that I can’t hold him completely in my mouth, I release him, letting his wet dick flop onto his belly. It’s not that I don’t like how he shivers under my control or the salty taste of his precome, but more that I’ve just had another thought and I’ve got to find out the answer.

He’s panting openly now, heels scrambling to dig into the bed as he continues pulling on his restraints. He’s going to tear himself up if he keeps at it. That’s his choice, though, I know, so I pay it no mind as I move my head down lower, kissing his balls on the way past. I pause for just a few seconds, winding him up with the anticipation, before I lick out, tracing his puckered entrance. “Fuck!” he swears, shuddering. Liking the reaction, I do it again.

His breath hitches on a sob and he twists his upper body, burying his face in the pillow and biting down. I lick him until he comes apart in my hands, until he’s willingly spreading his legs to give me more room.

I’d always known that he’d be sweet. Dean’s one of those guys that just quietly begs to be topped. He just doesn’t know it.

He’s sobbing and panting when I stop and I’m half expecting him to beg me to continue but I don’t think he has the wherewithal. Instead, he just lays there submissively while I pull away and suck a hickey onto his inner thigh. He’s mine now, after all.

It won’t be long now until I get to prove that. Until I get to claim him. He’s nice and loose as I push in my first finger, accepting it even as he tries to pretend he doesn’t want it, clenching down again. I sit up, keeping myself still inside him, swirling around to remind him what’s about to happen, and lean over to grab the lube that I’d bought down at the corner shot over on East and Third.

He’s beyond words at the moment, just biting into his bottom lip and whining, low and continuous. He looks so beautiful that I can’t help myself—I surge forward, pressing my lips to his. In his shock, he looses his jaw, buying me just enough space to lick inside, getting a taste of him before pulling back out. He jerks his head away afterward, breathing hard and staring at the wall. I stare at his pretty face for a little longer before nipping my way down his throat.

With my free hand, I pop open the cap of the lube and drizzle it over the fingers that are pressed against him, pulling out just a little to coat my index finger as well.

“Don’t you dare…” he whispers, closing his eyes and I push a second finger inside of him. It’s harder than the first—he’s actively resisting me now—but I’m not going to let that stop me. He’s either going to have to relax or I’m going to tear him apart. It’s his decision and he’d better make it soon.

I bite the muscle of his pectoral, marking him again, and then soothe the hurt with my tongue. My fingers explore his insides, pressing and stroking until I find that spot that makes him arch and shudder. I press it again, watching his eyes open wide as his hips buck instinctively. He’s back to biting his lip, trying to stop the pretty little sounds he wants to make but he can’t muffle them entirely.

I stroke his prostate again and ready myself. “This can feel just like that if you want it to, Dean,” I tell him. “Just relax.” The third finger is an even harder push but it’s not like he can fight me now. “Relax or you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

“Fucking psy-psychopath.” I’ve got to say, I’m rather impressed with his vocabulary right now. I thought he was beyond anything besides ‘no’ and ‘stop,’ really.

“It’s your choice, Dean. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You son of a—!” I brush against his prostate one last time, cutting him off in mid-insult before pulling out.

“Now just relax.” My dick is twitching in anticipation, jumping so much it’s going to be a wonder if I even make it inside. But I line myself up and begin the slow push in. His breathing is harsh, whistling through his nose as he does exactly the opposite of what I suggested. But I'd expected that.

He’s tight as I slowly slide in, constricting and warm, and oh so damn sweet. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, trying to make this last. He feels so good that all I want to do is just plunge inside, ripping him and seeking my release but I know that I’ll regret it afterward. I’d regret not taking my time to enjoy it.

Dean gasps beneath me and I moan as I finally slide into to the hilt. God, yeah. I open my eyes, looking down at him, seeing him panting beneath me. His lower lip has begun to bleed, probably having been bitten through when I was entering him. I frown and reach out to wipe the blood away with my thumb. I bring it up, sucking on it, tasting it, savoring it. Sweet everywhere, I suppose.

His wrists are rubbed raw from where he’s been tugging, fresh blood oozing out around the dried and I shake my head. He should have just relaxed. He pants and tosses his head to the side, no doubt fighting off pain and I rub a few soothing circles on his belly. “Relax, Dean,” I tell him again. “There’s nothing you can do; just let it happen.”

He sobs, just once, before subsiding into shaking, apparently determined not to show any more than he has to. It’s just too bad I can see right through him.

I touch his dick—limp again from the pain—and give it a little tug. “Just let it happen.” I slowly pull out, watching his eyes go wide at the sensations. He groans as I sink back in and I start a gentle rocking of my hips, pushing up against him.

He shakes his head as I play with his dick, trying to deny me as my fingers move the sensitive flesh back and forth. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give in eventually. He’ll have to. I rub my palm over the head as I find a nice steady rhythm that has my body starting to hum. “You feel good, Dean,” I say, cupping my hand around his dick, working it in time to my thrusts. “You feel real good.”

His breath catches on another sob before lapsing into a choked back moan. “See? You like it, too.” He throws his head to the side again, biting down on his already abused lip. “You shouldn’t deny yourself. It’s unhealthy.”

I run my left hand up his body, mapping out his flat stomach again, feeling the muscles tremble and clench each time I press in. Sweat is starting to slick his skin, making it shine in the low light of the forgotten basement. I lean over him, tasting that too and deciding that I like it just as much as the rest of him. I move my mouth over to his nipple, sucking on it like I would a woman’s and making him shiver helplessly.

His hips are starting to rise to meet mine—barely noticeable little jerks that have him slipping against the hand I have on his dick. The friction’s gotta feel good for him and no doubt the movement is helping to distract him from what I’m doing. Not that I mind—he already knows that he can enjoy this if he wants and, frankly, the little pulses of his hips feel good. “Good boy,” I whisper into his skin and his next shudder is harder than those previous.

I smile because, yeah—just a little bottom wanting so badly to be topped. I move my mouth up to his neck, licking and sucking at the juncture with his shoulder and wrap my free arm around him, holding him close. He whimpers, his dick twitching in my hand.

He’s still tight, snug around my dick, but his pretenses at resisting have been thrown out the window which is good, because I can feel my orgasm starting to build. I speed up my strokes on his dick, moving with him as he writhes beneath me. “God,” his whispers, babbling. “Fuck, damn…” He shoves his hips into the mattress and I follow him, not giving him any mercy and then he’s shuddering, choking back a scream as he arches and it’s no longer just sweat slicking his stomach. He spills onto himself, hips bucking and I have to shudder myself as he tightens down on me.

Damn that’s good.

He collapses into a puddle on the bed, falling completely limp and just letting me fuck him, letting me use him. “That’s it,” I mutter into the skin of his throat. “That’s a good boy…” The slap of my skin against his fills the room as I speed up. So damn sweet. My balls tighten up and I slam into him one less time, flooding inside of him as I come.

I pant as I drop back down from my high, trying to catch my breath and wiping the sweat off my forehead. Damn but that was even better than better than I’d thought it’d be. I run my hands over Dean’s drenched skin and he grunts as I finally pull out. I glance down between his legs and smile because I can see my come starting to leak out of him.

He grimaces and turns away, laying passively against the bed, drained. “That was good, Dean,” I tell him, moving off the bed to stand. He doesn’t react, just stares blankly at the wall and I give him a pat on the thigh. “I’ve got to go wait for your brother now. You don’t mind staying here, do you?”

It’s about time to call Sam, to let him know that Dean’s not coming home and once we take care of that—take care of the evil that little Sammy Winchester is—there’ll be plenty of time to enjoy Dean before I have take care of him as well.

I can’t hardly wait.


End file.
